Statuesque
by other feebop
Summary: Years into reconstruction, the mighty emperor dreams of a new dawn. Ao3 crosspost.
1. A Practical Ritual

A mockery of birdsong polluted the cool spring air over Enbarr. As dawn took its first stabs at the purple sky, pigeons crooned, gulls squawked, and crows cawed.

Each resident of the awakening city took their own meaning from the noise. A bricklayer heard that he would soon have to put on his boots again. The proprietor of a baked goods stand heard that winged thieves would still be eyeing her wares. A street sweeper heard that he'd have a fresh layer of bird-filth to scrub away.

And, off in the highest tower of the Imperial Palace, a tired young woman heard that she was still there.

Still in the capital. Still alone in her bed, blinking away dreams in the most precious hours of the morning. Still preparing for a fight, long after swords had become plowshares.

There was a point, many years ago, when Edelgard would have given anything to hear the sounds of the city from the safety of the emperor's chambers.

But she had been spoiled, since then. Spoiled by late mornings, by the cheery gossip of peers, and by actual birdsong, which the bickering of those city-wise pests outside could never match.

The tired girl caught herself, and frowned for no one to see. She shook those far-off thoughts from her mind. A thousand nuisances would nag her, that day, and insufficiently pretty sounds outside her window did not need to rank among them.

The last Hresvelg stretched one arm across her chest, and then the other. They put up more resistance than usual before giving her the noise she sought. It was a poor omen for the day ahead.

She kicked off starchy bedsheets and began testing her other limbs. Her knees took extra effort to bend, and she could swear she felt iron forming around the bones in her thighs. Eventually, though, her legs gave up the fight, and surrendered their own sounds. From under hardened pale skin, and corded, Crest-addled muscle her very bones groaned out.

When she had mined her limbs for all they were worth, she settled her arms at her side and sought one last sound. Her back didn't resist her, snapping and cracking so nicely that she barely registered the ache.

The noise conjured memories of Aymr, and the ghoulish music it made when it ground against its bindings.

With her stretches complete, the mighty ruler inched herself to the edge of the bed. Cold stone greeted her feet where plush red carpet used to lay.

She glanced towards her destination, over against the far wall, and saw nothing. Though the morning sun was winning its coup against the Great Tree Moon, her window didn't yet offer enough light to see.

A heavy hand thumped onto her bedside table, where a golden candelabra once sat, and found a small iron lantern. After a moment of fiddling, a smooth, heatless orb of magefire turned the dark room orange.

She could see it, then. That looming wooden monolith and the responsibilities tucked inside.

Her first step confirmed the worst; Her body was rebelling again.

One modest stride was enough to strain the tissue deep within her legs. The arm that she had just stretched fought every inch of the way to reach for her lantern.

It came in waves, this treason from her muscles. On good days she would wake up to a dull throb, and on bad ones her wretched body seized up like jammed clockwork. Today wasn't the worst she'd ever felt, but it was certainly on the poor end of the spectrum.

No matter what she tried, be it stretches or medicine or magic, she could not cure the condition. She could only treat it.

As far as Edelgard knew, no one had ever documented that side of the "gift." She had never found any warning about how "divine" strength from Crested blood could sour and turn on its wielder with disuse. How all of that gruesome might could tangle and knot and make an elder of a young woman.

She wasn't sure whether that lack of information was due to conspiracy, or her freakishness even among Crest bearers.

In the grand scheme of things, she supposed it didn't matter. She had larger concerns than a sore body. A whole nation still had need of her. The twenty-nine-year-old, going on ninety, had to endure.

The second step came easier than the first, but only just. Obstinate knots deep in her quads tried to keep her still, but each new tap of flesh against stone weakened their hold. By the time she made it to her destination, she had settled into an acceptable imitation of her normal gait.

Edelgard set the lantern down and looked up at the armoire in front of her. Her caged sun's dull orange glow drew strange shadows across the closet's ornate surface.

Long, long ago she used to fear the thing. All its bloody spears and swords and skulls and screaming eagles had been a bit too macabre for a small girl. Though she was far from a child now, she still found no joy in the sight of it.

It was one of the few bits of royal furniture to survive after she'd culled the chamber's unnecessary opulence. That mercy wasn't born out of sentimentality, though. The solid oaken chest had a practical purpose no lesser wardrobe could fulfill.

She undid a set of latches, and pulled open a door. And then she waited.

Seemed that, hobbled as she was, she had won their little race that day. That meant she had another chance to test his composure.

Maybe today would be the day she'd get him. The thought was a welcome distraction from the ache.

Three sharp knocks rang out from behind her, and the most familiar voice in the world announced "I'm here."

Edelgard flicked the straps of her gown off of her shoulders, and called "Come in."

Heavy doors creaked, and a fleeting beam of hall light lapped at her pooled dress.

"I hope you're feeling rested, Your Majesty," Hubert told the far wall, "Today's schedule will be demanding."

Adrestia's leader cast a glance over her shoulder and confirmed what she heard. Sure enough, her oldest companion stood stock still, facing the door, waiting for his lady's response.

He did not shift, or squirm, or give any indication that he'd noticed her completely coincidental state of undress.

As always.

It was as if the coy old spoilsport walked in backwards.

"Oh, I'm feeling spry," she told him, while she rifled around in the closet. "I am the very picture of energy."

She slipped on her underclothes and a tight shirt.

"It might be wise to invest in finer bedding," he offered. "Laying down in something softer than starched cotton may help stave off early morning sarcasm."

The half-clothed emperor chuckled. She tugged a stubborn pair of leggings up one leg, then the other.

"If I thought silk sheets would make this easier, I'd have a set," she said. After she'd gotten her waistband straight she added "And I think your analysis is off, besides. Inviting bedding would make it harder to get up."

To the dismay of her wretched legs, she hopped a few centimeters in the air, so she could tug out a bunched-up bit of fabric. It was well worth the temporary pain, she knew. One little kink would nag her all day.

"Oh, I think you're more than a match for any blanket, Lady Edelgard. No matter how warm."

"My, such glowing praise," she called. "But, this is a conversation for another time. Come, I'm decent now."

She heard the chatter of metal on wood, and before she could turn she caught the smell of wet cobblestone. Then he was in front of her, crouched and grasping in her wardrobe's gaping maw.

He managed silence as he produced the beginning of her shell: one black steel greave. When he freed its twin, though, a tiny grunt of exertion slipped out.

She sometimes felt the tiniest pinch of guilt watching the lithe man muster so much strength to carry her armor. Never more than a twinge, though, for she knew he took pride in his ability to help her bury herself in steel.

And, in the first place, he had been the one who had talked into wearing her metal trappings during peacetime.

The people knew her as a steel emperor, covered head to toe in invincible plate. Every painting, tapestry and statue depicting her paid homage to that striking armor. Wearing the full set of Imperial regalia, he had argued, would inspire confidence in anyone who saw her.

And, in the event something unfortunate happened, it would keep his lady safe. He had conspicuously forgotten to make that point, but he hadn't fooled her for a second.

A yellow cat eye blinked at her, and she realized she was wasting time. He was half-leaning in front of her, watching her from down the slope of an offered shoulder.

Without missing another beat, she accepted his offer. She posted just enough weight on his waiting shoulder to slip one leg into its metal case, then the other.

As the the steel-legged woman adjusted leather ties, Hubert went back to work.

He hauled out her faulds and tassets, and cinched them around her waist. Then he produced her gauntlets, and fastened them snugly onto her arms.

His normally dire visage became ever so slightly more dire as he pulled out her breastplate. It was the densest, heaviest piece of all, and he had to lift it as high as his chest. Before the exertion could wear on him, though, the emperor clanked forward, and slipped her metal arms through the plate's holes.

If he was offended by her help, he didn't show it. Without missing a beat, he slipped behind her and secured her bindings.

In fact, she almost thought she could see verve in his step as he fetched the last piece, a smooth pair of pauldrons. He fixed them to her shoulders in the blink of an eye, and stepped back to inspect his handiwork.

"How is the fit?" he asked.

Edelgard always thought that was an odd thing to ask after he'd finished putting everything on. The fit was wonderful, though. As wonderful as forty pounds of steel could be.

For the moment her treacherous muscles sang their approval, happy to have something besides her skeleton to struggle against. She wondered how long that would last.

"Awful," she told him, in the flattest tone she could manage, "Unbearable, even. We'll have to start over."

A single glinting eye studied her face, and she did her best not to crack. She could only last a moment, though, before the corner of her lip started to curl upward.

"You are the pinnacle of comedy, my lady," Hubert said. As he turned to gather material for the next phase of her transformation, she thought she saw a little smirk on his lips.

Perhaps her joke had actually hit. Or perhaps he was happy to be done lifting heavy things. Or, maybe, just maybe, under all the man's glares and scowls beat a girlish heart that enjoyed putting frilly dresses on porcelain ladies.

He didn't give her much time to wonder, as heavy red fabric swooshed out of the armoire.

The skirt came first, hooked carefully into the not-quite-heart-shaped buckles of her faulds. Then he helped her into the coat, and buttoned the gleaming golden buttons that her clumsy gauntlets could not.

She could only imagine the scandal that would result if someone were to walk in and see him getting fresh with the hull around her chest.

But that sort of thing never happened. Even if he didn't act like it, they were alone together.

As her mind wandered, he slipped on her gloves, taking care not to get the thin material caught in her finger joints. Finally, he wrapped her cape around her shoulders, weaving straps into her pauldrons to hold it in place.

Once again he stepped away, and looked her over.

"Does everything sit properly?" he asked, though it sounded like he knew the answer.

The girl thought she knew the answer, too, but she moved around just to confirm. She bent her arms, and kicked out a leg. Her garments followed along, as expected. She leaned forward, and then back, and then twirled as much as her heavy boots and dignity would allow. Nothing felt out of place.

He definitely had a little grin, now. Edelgard was starting to think her girl-heart theory might have some truth to it.

"You did a fine job, Hubert," she said. "Thank you."

His grin vanished, and he declared "No thanks are in order, Your Majesty. Least of all now, before we're finished."

"Please, do away with the modesty. I'd still be trying not to tear my own gloves, if not for you."

He shifted, almost imperceptibly, and said "If you insist, Your Majesty, then you're welcome." He reached down and scooped up her lantern. "But, we still need to finish preparing you."

Edelgard nodded at that. She knew her favorite part of the morning was at hand, and she did not need to be told twice.

Clattering steel followed silent feet to the other side of the room. Hubert set the glowing device down on the former empress' vanity, and pulled out the stool for his lady.

Carefully, the steel-and-cloth woman sat, mindful of all the ways her extravagant dress would sit with her.

For the first time that morning, in the glow of artificial fire, she saw herself. Her attire was certainly in order, gathered neat and proud around her. That was where her regalness ended, though.

Her face was lost somewhere between aloof and grumpy, and she saw the beginnings of bags forming under her eyes. She had to remind herself to sleep more, when she had time.

Her hair was a mess, splaying out across her chest and shoulders like a tangled silken avalanche. She didn't fret over it, though. It wouldn't be a problem for long.

Her retainer slid a tray over to her, and the salty smell of breakfast caught her attention. Sausage links, and seared mushrooms, and crisp little cubes of potato.

An excellent breakfast for someone whose armored hands could only make simple stabbing motions with a fork. Not the best for someone who enjoyed sweets, but she couldn't be selfish. The sugary cakes or pastries of her dreams would leave her sluggish in court, and she didn't want to imagine Hubert cinching armor around a body with extra... heft.

She managed to pick up her fork at around the same time the man behind her began corralling her hair.

"Care to walk me through this busy schedule of mine?" she asked, before he could do it unbidden.

"Of course, Your Majesty." he replied, as he wrangled stray hairs. "The Minister of the Interior has blocked out the first three hours of your day. Seems he's trying to sell you on a proposal that failed the Senate."

"Wonderful," the emperor opined, between bites of sausage. "One can only imagine what he wants. What's his angle this time?"

"Curtailing banditry in southern Faerghus, as I understand," said Hubert, with a trace of either mirth or sympathy in his voice.

Edelgard could hardly wait.

"After that," he continued, "the Minister of Religious Affairs has requested an hour to discuss a subsidy for a Church infirmary. This matter actually did pass the Senate."

The emperor nodded, just before her retainer took hold of her head. Carefully, gingerly, his gloved fingers turned her so that her chin was up, and her face was forward.

"You have a laundry list of public audiences, but they appear to be routine. I can brief you on the exact details now. Or if you'd prefer, I can wait until this afternoon, before they begin."

Edelgard watched her own mirror image answer "Waiting until this afternoon would be prudent." Hubert's reflection nodded.

It was indeed wise to forestall the gory details of who would be coming to ask for favors. She would remember names and titles and issues better that way, without the bluster of her ministers blowing them away in the meantime.

Certainly, her decision had everything to do with keeping the information fresh in her mind. It had nothing to do with enjoying the next few minutes in silence.

Hubert stepped to her side, and picked up her favorite instrument. He checked one final time that her head was straight, and then he began to brush.

It was gentle at first, like always. Slow, careful, radial movements that started at center of her scalp and lapped outwards.

Each stroke dared to travel a little further than the last, before returning to the middle. And each one sent a slightly bigger jolt through her.

Edelgard had a theory that, each time a dull testimony, or smug pontification, or foolhardy political jab met her ear, a little bit of lightning came into existence. Despite all her steel trappings, she was a poor conductor for this lightning. So it sat, tangled and messy upon her head, just like her hair, waiting for an outlet.

She was full of that lightning, this morning, but it just so happened that Hubert gave it the perfect escape.

Each time those firm, rubbery bristles scrubbed against some of the only soft flesh she had left, more electricity darted out. It flowed out behind her ears, and around her jawbone, and down her spine, leaving wonderful crackles and tingles in its wake.

The vanity allowed her the chance to see her own face soften as he worked. Her lips curled upwards, and all that tingling electricity loosened her tight jaw. Her brow, so often tensed in scrutiny, drooped, and her eyelids along with it. She could even see a little tinge of pink playing beneath the pallid whiteness of her cheeks.

At that moment she was closer to a house cat than a head of state, just a few degrees removed from purring at the sensation of being pet. It would be a mortally unbecoming state for anyone to find her in.

But no one would find her. No one except Hubert, and he wouldn't tell a soul.

The man acted like he didn't know what he and his brush did to her, but the phantom retainer in her mirror gave him away. He was softening too, in his own way.

To most, the changes were imperceptible, but Edelgard knew what to look for. The gloomy shadow under his eye didn't sink as deep. His lips, usually drawn into a tight line or a scowl, pursed and pondered with the utmost concern as he gently worked on knots. And, even though he managed to keep it off his mouth, she could see a smile glinting in his eye.

He didn't need to be so guarded. She wouldn't tell a soul.

Eventually, his brush found a smooth, effortless path through her once tangled locks. She received one last, nice scrub against her scalp, and then no more.

He took a moment to straighten himself, and then he set his brush down.

The happy little mirror-phantoms of Hubert and Edelgard disappeared behind the dutiful visage of her flesh-and-blood servant. The little glinting smile in his eye had disappeared, but she wouldn't begrudge him its absence. The coming process wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the prior one.

Once again he set her head straight with a careful touch of his gloves. This time, though, his white leather fingers stayed. They traced around to one side of her head, found the exact spot they sought, and began to weave.

In another life, the fearsome Count might have been a hairdresser. Deftly, he wound her locks together, working towards the lengthy braids her diadem demanded. She marveled at the speed of his fingers. Even without her gauntlets, she doubted she could ever braid so fast.

It wasn't fair to compare her hair tending abilities to his, though. There was a nigh-insurmountable experience gap between them.

Hubert's styling routine was one of the few holdouts from the time when she was a princess, and he was a grumpy little glorified butler. Back then he mostly brushed, and put in the occasional ponytail, but the experience still counted.

Like mother's dressing-table and father's armoire, though, she only kept this morning ritual due to its practicality. Solely because Hubert was quicker at preparing her hair than she could ever be. No other possible reason.

By the time she had almost convinced herself, the world's most dire stylist was finished.

He stepped back and looked her over once again. For the sake of thoroughness, he compared the lengths of the great white ropes hanging off the sides of her head. When he was satisfied, he stepped away to fetch the finishing touch.

In his absence, an overly formal barmaid greeted Edelgard. Or perhaps a fair skinned farm girl, whose family produced only red cotton to dress themselves. She could never quite decide what the girl in the mirror with the long, thick braids looked like, but it wasn't much like an emperor.

As quick as he'd left, Hubert appeared again, holding the thing. The spiny, twisted symbol of authority that reminded her and everyone around her of her role in the world.

He placed it on as gently as he could, and tried to settle it, but it made no difference. Her younger self had been... ambitious with the design.

She had had a strong vision of how her headdress should look: the sharp flowers and gleaming jewels typical of Adrestian royalty pinned between curled bovine horns. She had been quite taken with the idea of a crown that conjured images not of polished golden spires, but of a beast of burden, a servant, carrying a nation forward like an ox pulling a cart.

The symbolism seemed so clever, at the time. So clever that it left no room for concerns like weight, or contact points, or centers of gravity. No matter how she and Hubert had tried, over the years, they couldn't find a way to make it sit comfortably.

It was no matter, though. Comfortable headwear was a luxury. An indulgence. She would be a poor emperor if she pursued an indulgence at the expense of responsibility.

If a nice indulgence that didn't get in the way of her responsibilities manifested, though, she would be a foolish emperor not to pursue it.

Hubert stood in front of her, working carefully.

It was a delicate procedure, winding those odd looking cords of hair into the great wheels of her crown.  
Her most trusted advisor was up to the task, but it demanded his full attention. Though his head was just above her line of sight, and his torso blocked her mirror, she could practically see the look of concentration on his face.

When she could tell he was well and truly engrossed, something unfortunate started to happen.

Perhaps her poor sleeping habits caught up to her. Or perhaps the weight of the ill-fitting metal on her head became too much. Or perhaps she wanted one last crack at her companion's composure.

For any number of possible reasons, the girl's eyes fluttered shut, and her head began to lull forward. Subtly, degree by degree, her chin tilted downwards, threatening to topple the spiky diadem roosting on her head.

She didn't make it far.

A pair of cool, leathery digits caught her head, gently tilting it back where it belonged.

The smell of rainslick cobblestone filled her nose.

When she opened her eyes she found one concerned little topaz staring at her.

"You must be more careful, my lady. You can't afford to lose focus at this stage," he said, trying to sound stern instead of worried. "If I weren't keeping an eye on you, you might be dealing with a broken crown and a very lopsided head of hair."

He wasn't wrong, Edelgard thought. In the right scenario that heavy headdress of hers could probably take a whole host of white strands with it on a trip to the ground. It wasn't worth considering, though.

"That's not a realistic concern, Hubert," she replied, feeling as devilish as a horned woman could. "Because I'll always have my faithful servant to keep an eye on me, won't I?"

That got him.

Surprise slapped the poor Count in the face. She heard an almost-silent breath catch in his throat, and that beady cat eye widened ever so slightly.

In real time she watched an argument take shape, and attempt to be born, and then die on his lips.

Eventually he managed "Of course," in a respectably even tone.

And then nothing happened. Two, then three, then four blinks worth of nothing passed the two of them, before Hubert remembered where they were.

All at once he snatched the fingers holding her head away, and he shot back up to his place tending her hair.

He was being as difficult as ever, and she didn't get to savor it much, but the most powerful woman on the continent was happy with her victory all the same.

For a moment silence sat. Hubert resumed his coiling, but his fingers moved even more carefully than before. A bit sluggish, even.

Eventually, a perfectly collected voice up above her said "You have two new marriage proposals."

Edelgard blinked at the information for a moment, and then took great pains to swallow a sigh.

"From who?" she asked, in a tone just as collected as his.

"The former Count Gloucester has proposed a marriage between you and his son," Hubert said, a little too businesslike, "and a prominent Srengian chieftain has offered you his hand."

The girl wished her retainer was not blocking the mirror, so she could see the sight of her own eyes glazing over.

"You should at least consider them, Your Majesty."

Try as she might, she could not swallow another sigh.

Edelgard spent a considerable amount of time being the emperor. All of it, in fact. She couldn't stop being the stony, serious, invincible ruler her people had come to expect. Not for a few more years, at least, when she'd pulled the cart far enough that it could roll on its own.

But she liked to pretend, when she could. When she was alone with someone she trusted, she liked to think of house cats and little princesses and barmaids and farm girls, and other things.

But if that trusted person of hers was going to insist, she wouldn't deny him.

"There is no political gain in marrying into a family that has already demonstrated its utmost loyalty to me," called the cool voice of the emperor. "And it would be foolish to entangle a rebuilding nation in a quagmire of tribal conflict. Sreng's best use is as a paper tiger to keep our army on its toes, and to ensure Imperial presence is welcome in Faerghus."

After a moment, she added "And that's before we consider how all of those chiefs seem to think that marrying me would make them Fodlan's King, instead of her Empress."

Hubert stepped back, for he had finished his task as she spoke.

"Exquisite analysis, Your Majesty," he told her. "As always, your pragmatism is something to be admired."

He stepped back behind her, and she finally saw herself. Stiff and steely and expertly coifed, with her gleaming horns set in perfectly. An emperor, if she'd ever seen one.

An emperor who was frowning a little deeper than she had meant to.

"Yes Hubert, I've put a lot of thought into this" she answered, softening her imperial tone just a touch. "It's as if we've had this exact conversation before."

Before he could come up with something, she continued.

"I'd like to see one of these rejection letters you send out, sometime. There must be something interesting about them to entice the same men to keep sending proposals."

"You know that it's unwise to send outright rejections," Hubert told her, in a tone that was once again natural.

"Yes, I know," answered Edelgard. "That's what makes it interesting. I want to see what the terrifying Count Vestra puts in his coy little love letters to keep so many lords seeking my hand."

That cracked him again. The girl earned herself an exceedingly rare treat: a snort of laughter from her deathly serious advisor. Both of their reflections failed to contain smiles.

"I suppose it is rather ridiculous when you phrase it like that," he conceded, when he could keep the laughter out of his voice.

"Just a little," she agreed. And then she added "But it's also an important task."

One that he took seriously. Dealing with her torrent of political marriage proposals was a miserable affair, at heart. Likely an order of magnitude more miserable for Hubert than for any other person, too, but he still handled it professionally.

"Your services are appreciated, you know." she told him, after a moment. "All of them."

Though his reflection still nursed the ghost of a smile, she saw him shift in place. He always wore praise so poorly.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," he answered, after a moment.

Best to leave it at that.

Edelgard mulled over something, as she started to stand. And then she felt something clench inside her calf, and she decided.

"The condition is flaring up again," she told him.

A whole host of emotions flitted across his face, but concern stuck.

"Why didn't you mention this sooner, Lady Edelgard?" he asked. "We have no time to do anything about it, now."

"We wouldn't have had time to do anything about it if I'd told you when you walked in," she said. "So I thought I'd save you half an hour's worth of fretting."

She was right, and he knew it, but that did little to assuage him.

"I will be fine, Hubert," she told him. "This isn't the worst flare I've ever had. And the armor is keeping it in check, for now. I can put up with a day's worth of it."

He seemed at least partially placated.

"I'll make arrangements for... treatment tonight, then," he finally managed.

Edelgard dared to smile, at his words.

"I would appreciate that," she said, gratefully.

With something to look forward to, she clicked off her lantern, and straightened out her skirts.

She cast one glance back at the mirror, and just barely made out the two of them in the morning light.

"How do I look?" she asked, on a whim.

"Commanding," he answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Edelgard smiled a little wider, as she clanked towards the door. She wondered how long he'd been sitting on that one.

With no further distractions, the emperor and Count Vestra left to tackle their day.

A few hundred enemies stood between the Imperial procession and their destination. Steep, narrow enemies who seemed as though they were designed to pester women in heavy metal heels.

Edelgard took on each of them with learned care. She remembered the trouble they had given her early on in her tenure, goading her to stumble and fall and break something. Years of experience had taken most of their danger away, but the extra tightness in her legs that morning made her more cautious than usual.

She wished she had the same agility as her companion.

He glid beside her, as if he were descending a gently sloped hill and not a perilous staircase. And, despite carrying a tray laden with porcelain and silver, he produced not even the faintest clink as he went.

His smooth silent movements counted for little, though. Edelgard made more than enough noise for the both of them. Her royal clangor echoed all around the stairwell, and announced the pair's imminent arrival to those on the ground.

Those on the ground seemed to appreciate the alert. Edelgard could hear the rattle of armor that wasn't hers as she and Hubert approached the bottom.

While the emperor enjoyed a renewed appreciation for the flat, solid castle floor, her retainer pushed open the last barrier between them and the outside world.

The two-person entourage stepped out into the castle, and a pair of guards greeted them.

Tall, proud, alert guards who had certainly not been slouching until they had heard their boss coming.

"Your majesty," called one, as he snapped into a salute.

"Your highness," said his opposite, as he too struck a dutiful pose.

And then they peeled their eyes away from their liege, and exchanged panicked looks while they silently tried to determine which one had the line wrong.

"At ease, men," the emperor told them, for she cared little about such formalities.

The men offered her as much ease as they could manage. As she and her advisor passed them by, they attempted to bow, but their chestplates reduced the gesture to a pained half-lurch.

New recruits, she surmised, and not just from their awkwardness in armor. They seemed nervous around her, and they had visible purple bags beneath their eyes, which told her they were unadjusted to the night shift.

On some level, she could sympathize.

The sleepy guards had relief coming soon, though. She could hear their replacements rousing as she and her minister marched along.

The palace's personnel wing may not have been lively during the scarce hours of the morning, but it was certainly active. Amidst the crackling of tiny torchfires and through countless bedroom doors Edelgard heard the sounds of an awakening fortress.

Guardsmen buckled their shiny steel suits together, rattling sabers and spears all the while. Maids and ladies tightened corsets and zipped dresses, while diplomats and politicians practiced lines in the mirror.

And, all the while, the emperor clanked. She hoped her employees didn't take the noise the same way as she took the sounds outside her bedroom.

Eventually the pair reached the end of the personal quarters. Two massive doors opened into the castle proper, and Edelgard squinted at the sudden brightness.

Dawn had broken in earnest, showering the great windowed halls of the palace in light.

A kitchen maid met them at the door, and curtsied at the emperor. Before the stiff iron woman could so much as wave, though, the girl scampered away with the tray Hubert had held.

Heavy heels finally met a familiar red carpet. The way before them was obvious now, laid out in great plush rolls that lead to their destination. The emperor's pace quickened, as she tried to channel some of the energy that the maid had displayed.

Familiar faces started to populate the castle, as she made her way along the home stretch.

She nodded to veteran guards who simply greeted her instead of saluting or crushing themselves with attempted bows. She waved at a doddering old caretaker as he went about the business of snuffing out now-unneeded torches. She and Hubert even paused to let a master-at-arms herd a group of groggy squires towards the training grounds.

The emperor turned one last corner, and made sure her posture was perfect. Her destination was in sight, now, and so was one of the most familiar faces of all.

Flabby jowls, she saw, pinned together with a bulbous nose, and topped with creases and wrinkles. There was no mistaking the little fellow. His beady little eyes lit up when he saw who approached.

"Good morning, your majesty!" called the castle chamberlain, as he slid into an impressively deep bow for someone of his constitution. "And good morning to you too, Count."

"Good morning, chamberlain," came the emperor's curt reply. Hubert offered only a nod.

"I hope you enjoy another peaceful morning of court," said the jolly little beetle.

"You'll do more than hope," the fearsome Count informed him. "You will ensure."

For a quiet moment the fat man gathered his wits, and then answered "Of course, my lord. That is what I meant to say."

"Good," said Hubert, and the chamberlain smiled. The shorter man wore even the lightest of praise much better than his boss. "Send for me before public audiences begin."

"Of course, my lord," said the now-serious man, with a bow.

And then Hubert turned to his lady, and gave her a bow of his own. It was as smoothly executed as the chamberlain's but as shallow as the rookie guards'.

"Your Majesty, if you have no further need of me-" he began, but a red satin hand cut him off.

"You may take your leave for now, Lord Vestra," said the emperor.

At that, the two old friends exchanged one final nod. Then, the emperor's most trusted advisor turned on his heel, and strode off back the way he had come.

She resisted the urge to tell him goodnight. Both because it was broad daylight, and because she didn't want to embarrass him in front of his minion.

Her faithful retainer was heading off to "recoup personal resources" in his chamber. That was how he dressed up "sleeping off a night of paperwork and skulduggery" when people besides her were in earshot.

Her closest companion could be a strange man in private, but doubly so in public.

Leading a party that was now one minister lighter, the chamberlain ambled his way up a short set of stairs, and made a show of producing a gleaming silver key. With a flourish, he stabbed the thing into its keyhole, and slowly creaked open the throne room doors.

The emperor never had the heart to hurry along his little ceremony, for she suspected it was the highlight of his day.

Eventually, the doors opened, and he lead her in. Into the single solitary room where she'd spent so much of the last six years.

For all of its symbolic importance, the throne room was quite humble. It smelled of scroll paper and lingering snatches of perfume dragged in by its many, many noble guests. It held few decorations or frivolities, outside of the obvious one. A cushioned wrought-iron chair sat to the right of the room's eponymous golden seat. Simple torch sconces lined the stone walls, and the root of the of the castle's vast system of red carpet lay at the feet of the throne.

The brightness here was more bearable than in the surrounding castle, thanks to the room's tinted glass windows. It was quiet, too, at least for the moment. She wasn't sure if the silence owed to some special enchantment, or if it was a natural consequence of being raised off the ground and surrounded by a little moat.

It was no matter. The beetle waddled up to his place a few paces in front of the throne, and about-faced.

He arranged himself to look as serious and intense as he could, but a round little bald fellow in a suit could only pull off so much.

What an odd man the chamberlain was, Edelgard thought, as she carefully arranged herself atop her stiff golden seat.

He was a lifelong attendant of House Vestra, but he put on a terribly unconvincing Hubert impression. Some things just couldn't be taught, or imitated, and her cat-eyed protector's menacing demeanor seemed to be one of them.

She wondered what the mighty Count looked like, at this very moment. He was a swift man when he wasn't escorting short-legged, heavily-armored emperors, so he was probably in his chamber already.

She imagined him giving his blood-and-thunder routine to an empty room. Glowering down at his pillows and grappling his blanket into an easy submission under threat of a swift magical death. The thought made her smile, but she knew he wasn't doing that.

He was probably just worried. Worried about her, and her dreadful condition. He was most likely curling his long body to fit on his little cot and frowning into his pillow.

Or smiling into his pillow, perhaps, in anticipation of this evening.

No. Edelgard shook that thought from her head. That was even more ridiculous than him acting grim and gruesome for an audience of zero.

The chamberlain started to fidget, for such a jolly little man could not keep a dour visage for very long. He tugged at the edges of his petticoat and fiddled with his watch chain, and did everything he could to seem busy.

The poor fellow really didn't have much work to do, on paper. He performed only the most literal duty of a chamberlain: unlocking the door the the throne chamber. In truth he was more of a secretary, keeping her abreast of the time with his little pocket watch and announcing the names of people she already knew when they entered the room.

And he kept his master up to date on what happened during the emperor's executive audiences, but that wasn't an official function. It had value, though.

Edelgard cared little for the opening few hours of court, when the authors of losing Senate bills would come and beg her to overturn the will of the people, and the authors of winning bills would come to haggle about numbers.

It was a dull enough process to get through the first time. She couldn't imagine walking through it a second time so her spymaster would know who to keep an eye on. She supposed the chamberlain earned his keep, when all his functions were considered.

But, there was something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. Something that wasn't truly his fault, but that still nagged the emperor in the back of her mind. His stature, and his tendency to fidget, and his lack of hair reminded her of another fat little man who used to stand in the throne room and try to make himself look important.

All at once the man sputtered, and waddled his speediest waddle over to the door. He turned to face her, thrust an arm out, and bowed deeply once again. "Your Majesty," he called, "I present, Prime Minister Aegir!"

He certainly did.

"Thank you, Mr. Chamberlain," chimed the voice of someone who was happy to be there, "And good morning, Edelgard."

For a moment, the emperor watched as the second most powerful woman in Adrestia made her way down the carpet. She carried a thick portfolio of papers under one arm, and a steaming mug in her free hand. She wore a formal looking white dress highlighted in Imperial red and gold. The heavy garment flowed down to her ankles, and left her upper torso entirely to the imagination.

It was a far cry from what Edelgard remembered seeing her in, years ago, but she supposed a prominent politician and married woman was bound to dress differently than a bachelorette.

Edelgard also supposed that she was being rude.

"Good morning, Manuela," she said, as the former professor took the seat beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"Wonderful," she answered, in a sing-songy sort of voice, "Never better, even. And yourself?"

"About the same as ever," Edelgard lied.

Manuela seemed satisfied with the answer. "Did Count Sleepyhead let you know what we're in for?"

The emperor nodded gravely, as the Prime Minister handed her her share of documents. "It sounds like a fun morning," she said, allowing only a hint of sarcasm into her voice.

"Should be delightful," Manuela agreed, wrinkling her nose. "Another thrilling day at the office."

Edelgard rifled through her dossier. She pushed aside the minutes of the last Senate hearing, and the formal arguments, and the bureaucratic scorecards. Those documents could be reviewed later.

Finally, she found her executive summary and winced when she saw her fears confirmed in cold black ink.

She truly was going to listen to one of her ministers give a three-hour presentation entitled "Banditry in Southern Faerghus and How to Prevent It." And, if the summary of the conclusion at the bottom was accurate, the whole thing really would be another farcical sales pitch for his pet project.

She wanted to groan, but that was out of the question, so she found another use for her breath.

"What's the time, chamberlain?" she called.

The man, who had resumed his place near the foot of the throne, produced his watch. "7:58," he answered, happy to be of service.

Edelgard looked over, and found a sympathetic pair of brown eyes gazing at her.

"Ready?" asked the elder woman.

After a moment, Edelgard answered. "As ready as I'll ever be."

The emperor took a few moments to compose herself. To blink the dread out of her eyes, and lock her jaw into one straight regal line, and stiffen her upper lip.

When she felt particularly steely, she called to the chamberlain once again. "Send for the Minister of the Interior, when he's ready."

The little man nodded and trotted off towards the door.

And with that, another day of court began in earnest.


	2. Ambush in the Garden

A warm, silent afternoon settled over the Imperial throne room. The emperor welcomed it, after the loud blustery morning she had been subject to.

But, the silence was not golden. It had its own tribulations, soft as they were.

Edelgard was at a rare juncture in her courtly duties, one that only occurred once every few months.

She had nothing to do.

The second person to present a motion to her that morning, one Minister of Religious Affairs, had been a clever man. He had kept his presentation short, and focused. He took roughly half of the single hour that he had asked of her, for he knew the act that he was following.

And his strategy paid off, from his perspective. The emperor and the Prime Minister had been more than willing to carry out the will of the Senate, and give the concise fellow and his Church cohorts the subsidy they sought.

The man's gambit was rather annoying from her perspective, though. The "free" time he foisted on her wasn't free at all. It was wasted. Edelgard did not bedeck herself in cold steel and cloister herself off in the world's mustiest room so she could twiddle her stiff metal thumbs. There were places she would rather be, things she would rather be doing if her time were truly free.

But she didn't complain. It was a necessary sacrifice.

Still, she liked to be compensated by at least the illusion that the time she spent up on her sore old chair contributed to the greater good. Sitting around doing nothing just couldn't cut it.

She thought an early lunch might distract her, but the wilting chicken salad in her lap was already on its last legs. She would have liked to chat with Manuela, but the Prime Minister had taken an early leave to prepare for the next Senate session. Edelgard didn't blame her. She supposed she could talk to the chamberlain, who still stood dutifully at his post. But he was not much of a conversationalist.

So, the mighty emperor stabbed halfheartedly at her salad, and thumbed through her dossier of papers, in search of something to read.

She shuffled through all manner of documents. Headcounts of meetings, and Senate findings, and copies of things she'd signed week ago sporting waxy stamps of approval. Nothing she could occupy herself with for more than a few seconds.

After a moment her flipping brought her to something that demanded attention, though. Or, it would have, if she hadn't spent three hours staring at it. The "short" version of the morning's first presentation was probably the heaviest piece of paper in the stack, she realized. The poor thing must have had half a bottle of ink on it.

If she could credit the Minister of the Interior with on thing, he never ran short on his allotted time. He was not a man gifted with brevity, especially when his favorite subject was involved.

She scanned the cluttered parchment, and found the indent that marked its beginning. "Section 1: Establishing The Malady of Criminal Activity," the dense thing told her, "Subsection A: Defining Banditry in a Modern Context."

"Crime exists, and it is bad" is what the paper would have said, if someone more concise had written it. Although, someone concise probably wouldn't have written the paper at all. Almost everything on the page went without saying.

Crime existed, and it was bad, the outline essentially said. And violent crime happened in the south of Faerghus, which harmed the region's citizens. Policing and patrols could alleviate banditry, but guards and police required structures to operate effectively.

It took the man well over two hours to explain those lofty ideas to her, as if she were some simpleton who had not gone to an elite military academy. But eventually he had blathered out enough axioms, and reached the crux of his little sermon: Because police needed infrastructure to prevent crime, she should outlay a considerable sum of public funding to rebuild Arianrhod.

She still wasn't sure where the man's fascination with the Silver Maiden stemmed from. Hubert had looked into it once, and found no clear indication. The minister was not from the region, nor were any members of his family. He had no business interests tied to the once-grand fortress, and there wasn't any evidence he had ever stayed at the place. Perhaps he was just struck by the castle's former beauty. Or perhaps he just couldn't take "no" for an answer.

The emperor had to give him a little credit, in the interest of fairness. The "castles reduce crime" angle was a much more practical stance than he normally took. Typically he appealed to emotion, and talked about intangible things like ultural or artistic value. Deterring violence was an actual, concrete argument in favor of funding Arianrhod's reconstruction.

It was a shame it fell apart so quickly.

Edelgard flipped to the next paper in the stack, and smiled. It was an aggregation of guard reports, compiled by Manuela ahead of the minster's Senate pitch. And it was quite damning.

Crime was down in the south of Faerghus, as it turned out. Crime trended downwards across the country, in fact, but especially in the region the minister was so concerned about. The residents of Rowe county dealt with fewer murders, robberies and assaults than they had before the war, even with their grand fortress in rubble.

If there was one silver lining Edelgard could take from the fruitless diatribe that morning, it was that her social programs were working. As it turned out, offering the most vulnerable members of society access to work and education made them less likely to start pointing knives at each other.

Once again she shuffled, and brought up the most entertaining paper in the stack: the Senate's response the minister's pitch. After hearing the Prime Minister's statistics, they had been quite acerbic towards him and his scheme.

Those representing the former Alliance and the Adrestian heartland unanimously jeered the proposal. They considered the whole charade "a superfluous waste of limited reconstruction funding."

Edelgard did not disagree with them. She knew of at least one young woman who had sold an entire chamber full of her father's heirlooms to help fund reconstruction. She did not think that person would appreciate spending millions on luxurious silver walls and polished gleaming towers.

The senators from the once-Kingdom were only barely split. The officials representing the southwest of Faerghus backed the measure, for they missed their crown jewel. But, their northern and eastern peers did not feel the same way.

The representative from Fhirdiad had the strongest opinion on the matter. Just like Arianrhod, his city had been struck low by Rhea's parting shots. But the former capital's people had rebuilt her under their own power, without asking for help from their new Adrestian governance. His statements rounded out the document, and served as the Senate's last word on the matter.

"Build your own goddamned vanity castle," he told the minister and his dissenting countrymen. "You'd have settled for something cheaper by now, if you'd really needed it."

Edelgard wished that emperors were allowed to be as spirited as senators. Her rebuke had had to be far more diplomatic.

Just another day at the office, she supposed.

She turned to the next page of her dossier, and found only a drab budget addendum. Seemed she had completed the loop. She stabbed absently at her salad, but all her fork caught was pottery. She had vanquished the last of her chicken, and its leafy cohorts. She frowned, for she was fresh out of distractions.

"Chamberlain," she called to the room's other occupant, "What is the time?"

The sudden noise only phased him for a second. "Eight past twelve, your majesty" he declared, with a flick of his watch chain.

Her majesty winced. Her public audiences started at one, and she had already literally and figuratively chewed through everything that could occupy her. She shifted uncomfortably in her throne, and that brought something to her attention. Something quite concerning.

She tried and failed to kick one of her legs. That was enough to confirm. Inside her shiny black boot sat a stiff piece of concrete, where flesh should be.

That was a problem. A problem that demanded action. For a moment Edelgard weighed her options, but in truth there was only one. Traitor limbs had to be confronted directly.

In a twisted sort of way she was almost grateful for that vile condition of hers. All of a sudden she had something important to do. And, a very valid reason to head to one of the places she'd rather be.

"Come, chamberlain." her voice rang out again. "I have a task for you."

The man wheeled about on his heel, and shuffled up to her with excitement plain on his face.

"How may I be of service?"

"Take this back to the kitchen," she said, handing him her bowl, "And consider yourself relieved for the day."

He accepted the dish, but confusion knit itself on his brow.

"I've decided to tour the halls," she told him, "and there is no use in having you stand around an empty room." After a moment, she added, "But, do remember to wake Hubert when you normally would."

Her attendant seemed only marginally less confused. "Should I gather an escort from the guard?" he wondered.

"Unnecessary," said the woman, who waved the question away with a heavy hand. "I believe these halls, of all the places in Fodlan, should be safe enough to walk alone."

She could see him mentally smack himself. "Right," he conceded quickly, "Of course. Silly me."

Once again she waved a dismissive hand. "Don't trouble yourself, chamberlain. And, thank you for the assistance."

Her words drew a smile over his jowls. "It's my pleasure, your majesty," he beamed. With that, he tucked the bowl under a stout little arm, and offered her one last bow. "I pray you'll have an excellent afternoon."

The emperor bid him the same, and he scuttled off.

When he was well out of sight, and the taps of his little dress shoes were inaudible, she tried to stand.

Tried, because her traitorous limbs refused to perform their most basic function. They did not want to stand. They wanted to sit forever in hard, frozen repose.

She could only barely feel them. They were just thin little streams of sensation trickling out of the bones of her hips, tapering off into nothing halfway down her greaves.

She willed them to move, to push off against the ground, but all she could feel was dull twitching. And that would not do. Her day was not even half over. She could not allow her wretched blood to seize her body up.

The emperor braced herself. Her arms, though stiff and sluggish in their own regard, were not nearly as useless as their southern cousins. She tensed them against gilded armrests. With all the strength she could muster, the woman shoved off against her throne, and forced herself up.

The streams on her hip overflowed with searing pain. But they widened. As her lower limbs re-learned how to hold her weight, stinging sensation spread inside. Stinging was much better than nothing.

By the time she was steady enough to walk, she had some semblance of legs again, and not slag heaps.

She had to use her hips, at first, like a little girl taking her first steps in armor. Her leg swung crudely out in front of her, but it landed where she expected it too. She sent the other leg careening out ahead, and found that she could even bend that one's knee, ever so slightly.

By the time she had reached the threshold of her cell, she had whittled her shambling down into something presentable.

The guards at the foot of the stairs seemed quite perturbed by her clanking steps. They exchanged a look between them, and then turned to face their descending emperor.

"Something amiss, your majesty?" asked the bolder of the two of them.

"No," she told him, when she was at eye level, "Nothing is wrong. Just taking a walk."

And that seemed to be enough for the two men. Enough to keep them from vocalizing again, at least. She still felt their curious stares well after she marched past them.

They were the first of many. All manner of looks tracked the emperor as she went. Some were subtle, like the sidelong glances of passing ladies. Others were obvious, like the double-take of a wandering errand boy.

She wouldn't begrudge them their gawping. On most days the emperor walked one short, specific path in the morning, and its reverse in the evening. To see her out in the halls at midday like any other coworker must have been quite a spectacle. And, the way she walked was probably something to gawk at, in its own right.

A morning of stillness had fed her condition like oil to a fire. Though she had regained their use, her legs were stiff, and heavy, and screaming in protest over every move. That wasn't to say that her steps were ugly. Despite the hindrance of her clamped muscles, every stride was calculated, practiced, and precise. As a result of all that precision, though, they were exceedingly slow.

Everyone the emperor passed in the halls outpaced her. Anyone in a hurry seemed to zip by in a blur, and those moving leisurely handily pulled ahead of her. If it weren't for the ample width of the palace's great halls, she would likely have caused a jam.

But there was nothing for it. Emperors could walk slowly, and look a bit eccentric. They could not limp or lurch or stumble, and appear weak. And they certainly could not hurry and fall, and render themselves pathetic.

After a few minutes of calculated clunking she reached the end of the great hall, and her destination came into view. Unfiltered noon light blaring through its entrance. She squinted her eyes, but pressed forward. With a few more clanks she was there.

As she stepped through the threshold, she felt pressure peel off of her.

Crisp, open air greeted her like an old friend. It was smooth, and light, and easier to move in than the swampy, stifling atmosphere of the palace. Edelgard drank it in, nearly floated in it, as much as her haggard body and steel vestments would allow.

She had quite a soft spot for the palace coutyard, when she was a child. Even now, as a woman with only a few patches of softness left, there was room in her heart for the place.

She had thought it was "nature," in her early years. To a sheltered little girl it was practically a forest, with all its tall trees, and bright flowers, and berry bushes. Her journeys had taught her that actual nature was not boxed in by high walls, or perfectly manicured, or dissected by polished stone paths.

But, she could forgive her small self's naivete. A well-planted courtyard was as close a stand-in to nature as someone who spent their life in a palace could expect.

Edelgard seemed to be the only one enjoying the imitation nature, at that moment. The gardeners were on break, and the rest of the castle's busy little bees didn't seem to have time to walk the park.

She had hoped it would be that way, when she began her trek. Out in the solitude of the open air she could stretch her legs as ungracefully as was necessary, and not distract her staff while she was at it.

With a few more belabored steps, Edelgard put a line of trees between herself and the beaten path. Once she secured that last bit of privacy, she started to work.

The fearsome lord loped through her garden like a wounded animal. She forced her weight down on one leg, and then the other so suddenly that neither of the blasted things could build a tolerance. She was not going to get herself back to normal in less than an hour. Not by herself, not when she was choked by stiff cloth and held down by armor. But she could make progress.

Every lurch accomplished just a little. The jerky movements winnowed away at the stony knots in her quads, and dug the veins of sensation ever so slightly deeper. Veins of aching, stabbing sensation that didn't bother her as much as they could have. It was difficult to dwell on discomfort when there was so much else to take in.

Overhead, leaves rustled and twigs snapped as adventurous little creatures climbed about. Pastel butterflies fluttered easy routes over flower beds, and fat fuzzy caterpillars watched them from the ground, dreaming of the day they could do the same.

A gentle gust meandered among the trees, and brought pleasant scents to her nose. The girl caught the smell of pollen, and dew, and fresh mulch, and growth. What an overachiever the wind was. She would have been happy just to feel the balmy air breeze past her cheek.

If it weren't for the thunk of black metal against stone, Edelgard might have forgotten why she had come out here in the first place. How lucky she was to have the reminder. Forgetfulness was an awful trait for an emperor.

For a few minutes she continued on, lunging her way around the yard's long stone track. But by the time she was almost through the circuit, the wind carried something curious to her. Something that told her she was not as devoid of human company as she'd thought: the sound of humming.

She paused her clatter for a moment, and strained an ear. The jaunty buzz came from a few meters ahead, behind a high row of hedges. Its tune was distantly familiar, and its pitch was feminine. Edelgard could only speculate.

But, she did not speculate for long. The fearless leader continued along the neat little stoney road, and slid back into a gait befitting an emperor. A twinge of satisfaction caught her when she felt how much easier the steps came after all her stretching.

She made it most of the way to the hedgerow before the humming stopped. Much farther than she had anticipated, for she was anything but stealthy. Whoever was there must have been in their own little world.

With a few more lumbering steps, the emperor finally caught sight of her company. There, between stacks of documents and a plate of sweets, shaded by a sapling tree, sat Adrestia's second most powerful woman.

Manuela smiled, and waved to her new company.

"Fancy meeting you here," she called. "I thought those footsteps sounded familiar. But, it's not often I get to see you out in the wild. What's the occasion?"

Edelgard cleared her throat, and gathered her thoughts. She had not expected to have to speak anything but small niceties on her little excursion.

"As you know, that last proposal ran short," the emperor finally explained, "And I decided to spend the spare time indulging in a little fresh air."

Manuela nodded, seemingly satisfied with the majority of the truth. "Can't say I blame you," she said. "I'd probably go mad if I spent as much time in that musty old room as you do." The former professor pondered for a moment, then added "That's some kind of irony, isn't it? That one room could have so much window space but so little airflow."

That earned a fraction of a chuckle from the emperor. "If only those tacky things opened," she mused. "But then we'd be flooding the poor capital with hot air, wouldn't we?"

Manuela chuckled in turn. "Yes, we might just be doing a public service, keeping all those budget proposals locked away." Her smile still lingered as she raised a hand, and beckoned. "Why don't you come and chat, for a while? Shade and company go well with fresh air."

Edelgard contemplated, for a moment. Talking with an old friend would have been her first choice, if she had had the option a few minutes ago. The tides changed when she discovered how delinquent her body had become. Even so, she had not nearly snuffed out her sliver of free time. And, her limbs were functioning as well as they could, given the circumstances.

No one had need of her, she told herself. There was nothing more productive to be doing. For the moment, she had no duties.

"For a moment," she affirmed, "I would be happy to."

The emperor strode off the path, as confidently as she could. Then, she gathered up her vast skirts, mindful of the prime minister's mess, and placed herself down.

As Edelgard tried to make herself some facsimile of comfortable, Manuela sorted through her plate of sweets.

Glimmering nails tipped over a turtle, nudged past a brownie, and finally plucked up a lemon bar.

"Snack?" she offered the emperor, who forced herself to wave the treat away.

"I had a big lunch."

"Hmm. Suit yourself, then."

As Manuela helped herself to her little yellow prize, a thought came to Edelgard.

"Shouldn't you be preparing for the Senate?"

Manuela finished chewing, and looked up from her treat. "Oh, I am. I just thought I'd get more done out here than in my chamber. A nice day can take the edge off a headache or two."

The minister shuffled bundles of paper around, and produced a headache or two.

"Don't tell anyone," she faux-whispered, as she presented a heavy stack to Edelgard, "but you can have an early look at tomorrow's homework, if you want."

Edelgard took the packet, and marveled for a moment at its thickness. She could only imagine how many trees had to be sacrificed for its creation.

"The short of it is," the older woman chimed, "that old men will bicker about the particulars of your expatriate tax for about six hours this evening. And some poor stenographer will take all their haggling down for some poor emperor to read later tonight."

Edelgard handed the veritable textbook back, and caught its owner's eye. "Is there no poor Prime Minister involved in all this?"

Manuela grinned, as she set aside her burden. "Oh, I'll just be trying to wrangle them, as best I can."

After a moment, Manuela's grin faded, though her gaze lingered.

Before Edelgard could speculate, her old friend turned, and looked at something off in the distance.

"How have you been sleeping, Edelgard?"

The young woman almost balked at the question. Though her companion's head was turned, she fought the urge to touch the area beneath her eyes.

"As well and as often as I can," Edelgard answered.

"Mmm," the prime minister intoned, as if that diplomatic majority of the truth left something to be desired. Eventually, Manuela glanced back at her old student. "What was all that noise, earlier? I thought it was squires at armor practice, but it wasn't, was it?"

Edelgard's stomach bottomed out, and her cheeks burned. She searched for a good line, a deflection, even a laugh, but nothing.

There must have been some sort of witchcraft in Manuela's eyes. Under that stern brown gaze, the mighty hegemon felt like a teenager again, caught stealing glances at Hubert's magic exam.

"Was it really so loud," the girl finally managed, "so obvious?"

The Prime Minister's expression softened, as if her companion's quiet tone had a spell of its own. She shunted propriety, and laid a comforting hand on a steel shoulder.

"We're the only ones out here, Edelgard," she assured. "No one else heard."

The words abated some of the heat in Edelgard's face. Just enough so that she could conjure a line.

"My legs tend to fall asleep when I sit for extended periods. I was simply stretching them."

Manuela's expression didn't harden, but her eyes searched. "Those legs must have been awfully tired to sleep that far from the throne room. Do you think it might have something to do with that thing you told me about, a while ago?"

Just then Edelgard wished she had her confidant's talent for playing coy.

"You know," Manuela went on, staring straight into her boss' eyes, "The muscle aches, the tightness, the joint pain?"

The metal woman took in a deep breath, and found resolve in the back of her narrow corner.

"It's likely they're related, yes," the emperor answered.

"It's been getting worse, then?"

"It varies in intensity. Today just so happened to be a bad day."

"How often do you have bad days?"

"Rarely," the dragonslayer said, but she knew that would not suffice. She gathered up all her confidence, all her finely honed diplomacy, to reinforce her words. "I have a method of handling the symptoms, Manuela. A very effective method that keeps them in check, except for rare, rare cases like today."

A quirk of the Prime Minister's eyebrow swatted her explanation away. "Stretching is all well and good, Edelgard, but there are medications for this sort of thing. Solutions that don't take days off."

In some distant sense it amused Edelgard that not even her finest regal salesmanship could get the doctor to buy into a home remedy.

All the same, she pressed on.

"There are no medications that _I_ can take, Prime Minister." Her tone grew more imperial by the syllable. "Stimulants and muscle slackeners and alcoholic concoctions may fly on a battlefield, but they are of no use to a sedentary woman who needs to be of sound mind at all times."

The Prime Minister withdrew her hand, and then her gaze. Eventually, both settled down into her lap.

"I know that," she sighed.

The emperor's victory turned to ash as quick as it came.

"I'm doing everything I can, Manuela," she conceded. "Everything I'm able to."

As far as Edelgard knew, that was the entirety of the truth. But that still didn't do much for the old professor.

"I know you are, Edelgard," she confessed, "I just wish you didn't have to run yourself ragged. The stars shouldn't have to align for you to be able to walk through your own garden. And you shouldn't have to limp while you're at it."

Edelgard exhaled the last of her imperial edge. "It is not so bleak," she opined. "I take great pride in what we are building, you know. In every little change, and improvement. There are... trials now and again, but I knew what I was taking on when I started."

The girl laid a hand on Manuela's shoulder, for all the comfort steel and satin were worth.

"Besides," she went on, "I am not without my own little joys. They come as often as the rough patches." A little glint found its way into violet eyes. "In fact, I suspect I'll be in much better spirits come tomorrow."

"Oh ho, this must be quite a stretching routine you've come up with," quipped a renewed Prime Minister.

Edelgard found something interesting off in the grass, and stared at it. "Yes, that's about right." As color returned to her cheeks, she scolded herself for forgetting why these matters were private in the first place.

Manuela clicked her tongue. "Well, I suppose I've done enough prying for one day." She allowed herself a measured sigh. "I shouldn't have forced the issue. I know full well you can handle yourself."

Edelgard lost interest in the grass, and found a small smile. "Truly, I appreciate the concern Manuela." The older woman smiled back, but Edelgard still caught a twinge of sadness hiding in her eyes. "Hand me that little caramel that looks like a turtle," she added. "I may crush it if I pick it up myself."

Her request seemed to ward off the last of Manuela's gloom. As the mighty ruler nibbled limbs off of her little indulgence, the minister chimed "Why don't we move on to something more pleasant?" Edelgard's nodded her along as she ate. "Have you thought much about retirement?"

It was not lost on the girl how superficial the change in subject was, but she would not re-dampen the mood.

"Only once in a while," she lied, as not to overstate her weariness. "When a flight of fancy takes me." She couldn't quite read Manuela's gaze, so she pressed on. "I suppose I should be thinking more on it, though. It is on the horizon, after all."

That turned the professor's lips up, just a bit. "You think so?" 

Edelgard nodded. "In a few years, yes. The Senate's powers and responsibilities grow, month by month. And so do yours, with my apologies."

The Prime Minister waved her concerns away, so she may continue.

"One day I will not hold the final say in our political process," the emperor told them both. "One day I will be a figurehead. And then, someone else will be a figurehead, so they might enjoy all the pomp and circumstance."

"Have you thought about where you'll go?" asked Manuela. "You'd be the talk of any town in the Empire, you know. Even that big, bustling city out past these walls would fawn over you."

The woman's words earned her a snort of laughter. "Oh no, no," Edelgard practically giggled. "I haven't settled on specifics, but I doubt I'll stay in the heartland. And certainly not in Enbarr."

Manuela puzzled, silently. When her excess mirth was swallowed, Edelgard explained. "I'd like to go somewhere that isn't going to fawn over me. Somewhere where I won't be a spectacle. Where every man, woman and child won't half-recognize me," she began to mutter, "from that damned statue."

After a moment more of puzzling, something clicked in the minister's face. "You don't like _The Emperor and the Orphans_?" Manuela sounded as if her old pupil had just denounced sugar. "Everyone loves that piece, Edie! That statue got its sculptor booked in every city in the country, you know."

Edelgard nibbled at the edge of her tongue, as if to punish it for oversharing. "It is a striking composition, no doubt," the girl conceded. "It is just..."

She searched for a diplomatic way to describe it.

The statue in question was something of a landmark. It stood in the center pavilion of Enbarr's square, a gift to commemorate the end of the war. It loomed a head taller than Garreg Mach's saint statues, at least a dozen feet high.

And it looked something like her. From what she had seen on rare excursions, the bigger picture was there. Her crown and dress were captured in fidelity, and the artist had done an admirable job on Aymr. The statue smiled a modest smile, with its head tilted down. The right hand held her gnarled axe off to the side, and the left stretched down, towards the other figures of the piece: two ragged orphans, who reached up towards their savior with joy on their marble faces.

Edelgard was told that, at a certain hour each day, the sun would catch just so on the statue's crown, sending lovely rays of light down the shaft of its outstretched arm. It was said to look like the great stone emperor was offering a visible manifestation of hope down to her little subjects.

Rhea would have balked at something so masturbatory.

Outside of its stomach-turning composition, it failed at the little details. Even accounting for scale, it proportioned Edelgard to be at least a foot taller than she truly was. Its face was subtly wrong, as well. The nose was too prim, and the jawline overly feminine. The eyes were the most egregious though, so large and placid that it looked like some otherworldly stone angel.

Edelgard wished she had had some sort of input on the piece. It wouldn't have been much of a surprise gift then, but it might have been more palatable. It wasn't just the pose or the face she would change, though. Most of all she wished she could correct the omissions.

Instead of one giant emperor, she would have asked for dozen or two smaller statues, to commemorate the less heralded hands of the revolution. The ones who had walked the path with her, supported her, bled with her, step by step. Even, and especially the ones who hadn't made it to the end.

She might have even asked for some recognition of the little orphans' parents, if she could. But she suspected burying a marble soldier in a muddy grave at Tailtean or dashing one up against the rocks of the Airmid was outside the scope of the project, even for veracity's sake.

"It is too much, and not enough, I think." she finally settled on. As Manuela chewed over the girl's non-answer, she added "And if I had a coin for every time a guest mentioned they thought I'd be taller in person, I could lower taxes."

The Prime Minister chortled. "Yes," she finally conceded, "It is a bit off, isn't it? A tad leggy, a little smug." She pondered for a moment, and then said "You know, I just realized it might be unwise to plan the specifics of where you'd like to go, ahead of time. Your husband will probably try to have a say in that, won't he?"

Edelgard wondered if Manuela was drawing from tomorrow's quota of prying, or if today's had truly run dry. She let the prod bounce off of her placid face, for she had let Manuela goad far too much out of her that afternoon.

"If I choose to marry," the spiny diplomat finally intoned, "it will be to someone who wants to walk alongside me, not someone who would try and direct from the front."

"That's quite admirable, dear," Manuela chirped, "but that rules out most of your noble harem, doesn't it?" 

Edelgard smirked, and exaggerated a shrug. "It may," she said, "but I won't tell them if you won't."

"That's quite a strategy. Leading all those poor boys around by the nose," Manuela mused. "The promise of marrying into power like that must keep a lot of diplomatic doors open. But I'm sure it's a real juggling act, keeping them all strung along." 

The bachelorette nodded. "Truthfully, I'm not sure how my ghost writer manages it."

Manuela clucked at his mere mention. "It's still surreal to imagine he's the one who does that. Mr. Congeniality must be quite the paramour behind pen and paper."

For a moment Manuela's giggles filled the air, and Edelgard summoned her own laugh, to keep up appearances.

"Yes," Edelgard said, over the last of her chuckles, "it is a difficult thing to reconcile in the mind, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," said Manuela. When her own laughter had dried up, she finally added "But, don't you think it's a bit cruel to leave him in charge of that?"

The emperor pursed her lips, and caught herself before she could say anything. Her old friend was in rare form today. Utterly relentless.

"I'm not sure what you mean," she decided. "Hubert volunteered for the task, and it is well within his domain as minister of my household." The girl was all business, as she pre-empted a reply. "Besides, he's proven quite good at the job, strange as it is to imagine. There is no arguing with the results he's gotten."

To Edelgard's relief, the Prime Minister seemed to drop her last thread, for a moment. "Yes, I suppose that's true. What's the tally up to now? Two dozen, right?"

"Around there," said the emperor. "Just this morning I was informed some chieftain of Sreng put himself in the running. And Lorenz, again." 

"Oooh," cooed the Prime Minister, "how exotic. The chief, obviously, not the Gloucester boy." She clicked her tongue as a though arrived. "Oh, speaking of Leicester, has old King Claude come calling yet?"

"I think Claude is clever enough to realize he'd just be flirting with Hubert."

"We wouldn't want that, would we? You joke now, but there's no taboo about that, over there."

Edelgard let the jab clink off the side of her cheek, and die. If Manuela wanted any more ground, today, she'd have to do better than that.

When it was clear she struck out, the elder woman spoke again. "Well, King or no King, you've still got quite a little black book, Edelgard. Most women would probably kill to have that list of suitors."

The young woman blinked at her minister's latest offering. For all of her tact that afternoon, she had left a generous avenue open.

"How should I take that, Manuela?" the emperor asked, oozing fake concern. "Has Ferdinand been giving you trouble lately?"

The very notion brought a fresh peal of laughter out of Manuela. "Oh no," she managed, "perish the thought. That's why I said 'most women.'"

"So things have been well for the Aegirs?"

"Oh, yes. As well as they can be," said Manuela, on the heels of a sigh, "If the kids and I didn't have him to lean on, I'm not sure I'd have the strength to spend so much time away from home."

Before Edelgard could formulate a response, she spotted a dreamy look creeping into Manuela's eye, as the woman fiddled with her ring. The girl braced herself.

"It still feels unreal, even after all these years," the woman murmured, "the way it all ended up. I file through every eligible stooge on the continent, give or take a few... but the right one was there the whole time." Her voice grew so wistful that every sentence bordered on a sigh. "Oh, and he had been holding me in his heart since he was a boy. It's like something out of a play, isn't it? That sort of thing just doesn't happen."

Just then, Edelgard turned from her friend's soliloquy. Once again, something far off in the distance required a look. "Yes," she agreed, "that sort of relationship is rare, isn't it?"

Her words broke Manuela's trance. In an instant, she was back on the ground. "Sorry, dear, sorry. I got... lost for a moment. I didn't mean to brag."

Edelgard flitted the apology away. "Oh, brag away," she implored. "I'm happy for you, truly." And happy to steer the conversation as far from her own love life as it could get.

"Well, if you insist," said the minister, who flourished the slack out of a distinct set of papers, "I suppose I could tell you about my new favorite document."

"Letter from home?" Edelgard guessed.

"Right on the money," sang the old diva, "Found it on my desk last night, after the last hearing. It's been the perfect palette cleanser in between all this." She gestured to her little paper fortress, and after a moment began to rearrange it. She stacked her packets up on the far side of the bench, and weighed them down with her plate. Then, she scooted closer to the emperor, to better show off her prize.

Edelgard indulged the woman's excitement, and leaned over to get a closer look at familiar, flowery handwriting. "So how are things at the Aegir estate?"

"Everything's going swimmingly, to hear him tell it," the elder woman traced a finger down the page, as she skimmed. "The brush has been cleared. The fields are tilled. Planters think they can begin soon. Oh, our gatekeeper found out his son will be going to school after all." Manicured nails gingerly separated pages. "And the kids aren't squabbling about reading lessons, anymore. In a few months they should even be able to write letters of their own."

"Hmm," murmured Edelgard, as she tried to process a whirlwind. "Sounds like Ferdinand's been about as busy as we are."

"More so, depending on how you think about it. Or less. It's a different kind of busy, really."

Edelgard nodded.

As her companion reached the last few pages of her letter, her pace slowed. "The kids are already talking about visiting again. They just got back a few weeks ago and they're already asking about Mom and Enbarr."

The emperor wasn't sure what to say. Before a mood could settle, though, Mrs. Aegir went on. "They've found new hobbies to keep them occupied, though. Ferdinand's been playing them up."

Manuela flipped another page. "You remember your little admirer, Carmen."

She hadn't phrased it like a question, but Edelgard nodded anyway. For the brief time she had seen her, Manuela's daughter had made an impression.

"Well, she's been asking about how 'all the laws and things' work... She thinks she might like to work here, when she grows up."

"Stop her while you still can," advised the emperor, in tone no less mirthful than sympathetic.

That earned her a deep, dark chuckle. "Oh, I hear you. I suppose I should be flattered, in a sense. But, Ferdie's not sure if she quite understands that being a politician isn't like being a princess."

The former princess wondered if an "amen" would be patronizing to a woman of faith.

"But, Mateo's got more realistic aims. Mostly. Apparently he spent the whole carriage ride home talking about magic and wizards. I guess knighthood and horses are yesterday's news."

A little smile played on Edelgard's lips. She spent less time with the boy than the girl, but all the same she had a hunch. "I'm sure Ferdinand is disappointed."

Manuela scratched the back of her neck. "Oh no, he's fine. Mostly fine. He's happy our son's found something that captures his imagination so much. Maybe one of those horseback wizard knights, Ferdie's hoping." The woman traced further down the page. "Apparently Mateo shadows him all the time now, asking him to 'do a fireball.'"

Edelgard once again found herself thinking back to bygone days. "Has Ferdinand ever had a capacity for magic?" she wondered aloud, trying to remember if he had so much as raised his hand in reason class.

"No," chuckled Manuela. "No, he never cared much for magic. But he's learning now. Trying to be supportive. And, trying to make sure we don't lose house and home to an unsupervised experiment." She tapped a finger towards the bottom of the page. "He actually asked me at the end of this if I knew any shortcuts to make fire."

Edelgard pondered. "That's not your forte, is it?"

"Nope! I'm going to have to tell him to rub two sticks together. Maybe try oil. That's the best I've got. Now, if he was asking about nursing..."

Manuela clicked her tongue a few times, and then quirked a brow. "Come to think of it, Mateo's seen _my_ magic before, and he's never been so impressed." Her arms folded, and incredulity trickled into her voice. "Really, now. Mom can snatch someone's voice out of their mouth, and teleport a whole cavalry battalion a hundred feet away, but a measly fireball's what gets him excited? Outrageous!"

The younger woman tamped down the edges of her smile, and simply shrugged. Her understanding of the minds of little boys was quite limited.

The mother's jealousy flitted away as quick as it came. She looked back at her packet, and flipped to the last page. "It wasn't just a letter, by the way. They gave me gifts, too."

She passed the thick paper to Edelgard, who took it with all the care in the world.

"It's darling, isn't it?" asked Manuela, but her companion took her time in responding. First, she had to interpret what she was looking at.

She knew it was a drawing, but the array of colors and the... abstraction of the figures blindsided her. She puzzled for a moment at the composition of the lines. They were crumbly, and uneven, a little like the lines produced by graphite. But, they were thick, and shiny, and colorful. After a moment, it clicked that this was the work of those colorful waxen sticks that children were fond of.

Once the shell shock had worn off, interpretation was easier. At its heart, the drawing was a tale of two castles. On the left was a modest stone castle, with red roofed turrets, and soft round windows, and a puff of smoke coming from a little chimney. Overhead, the sun smiled down, and out in front three figures played.

One was clearly the most important. She stood out in front, bedecked in a long pink dress, with curly brown hair and a smile that took up half her face. She was radiant. Literally. Lines emerged from her body, as if to indicate that light and cheer simply poured out of her.

To the little princess' left stood a figure of similar height. This one was male, and his clothes did not seem as impressive. His brown shock of hair was messier and less detailed, and his smile was narrow. Green lines lingered above his head. Edelgard could only speculate.

Up above the radiant and less radiant characters stood a third figure. It was much taller, with flowing orange locks and an oddly weary smile. The figure's slim torso and lengthy hair might lead some to think it was a woman, but Edelgard recognized her old friend in an instant.

Seeing him at his cozy little home, watching his children without a care in the world, tugged a distant smile out of her. She wondered if her old "rival" would ever know of all the ways he had beaten her, in the end.

Her gaze didn't linger too long, though. Eventually she looked towards the second castle, on the other side of the page.

To her, it was as recognizable as Ferdinand. Dark towers loomed over the right edge of the paper, sharp and spiny and black. No sun watched over the imposing keep, only flocks of V shaped crows. For someone who didn't live there, the artist had really managed to capture the broader details of the imperial palace.

In the shadow of the pointy castle stood another familiar figure. This one was clearly just as important as the girl across the page. Her pretty white dress flowed down to her feet, and her stick arms were flung up in childish celebration. The finer points of her hair were well constructed, and she even had a mole, for accuracy's sake.

And, radiant lines emanated from her, in the same way as the girl. Must be a hereditary thing.

Next to the shining image of Manuela, though, stood a figure of particular interest to the emperor. A horned lady, in a very familiar outfit.

Distantly, Edelgard was flattered by all the attention she had received. Her dress was the most detailed thing on the page, although the artist clearly struggled with the small bits. Still, all of little Carmen's gawking at her imperial regalia seemed to have made an impression.

Edelgard wasn't so sure about the face, though. The little squiggly emperor's mouth was not a smile, or even a frown. It was a short, terse line, and her eyes were simply beady dots. Her hair was gray, likely owing to the whiteness of the paper and the horns of her crown jutted out, like sharp curly spines.

Manuela must have followed her gaze. "I don't think she meant to make you look so, uh..."

"Demonic?" Edelgard offered.

The elder woman winced. "It's the crown, dear. It's hard for someone to-"

The emperor waved her royal hand, and cut in, "I won't begrudge a child's drawing, Manuela. If anything, I'm flattered to be included in something so personal." She nudged the art back towards its owner. "And really, it's quite impressive, for her age. I was not nearly so skilled back then."

Manuela didn't motion for her prize, just yet. "Did you see the other one? There are two."

Edelgard quirked an eyebrow, and felt the paper again. It did seem awfully thick, for just one page. All the same, the pages were sticky, and there was little her gauntlets could do to help.

Eventually Manuela remembered the caliber of manual dexterity she was dealing with, and she split the pages for Edelgard.

The emperor found the second drawing much easier to read, in a certain sense. It was... impressionistic, compared to the first. The artist clearly did not care for castles or backgrounds, and their style was... bold. She could practically see the aggressive little fist that scrubbed this scene into existence.

Instead of using distance like his sister, Mateo had opted to draw his collection of figures close together. She spotted Ferdinand once again, standing next to what had to be Manuela. Their clothes held the bare minimum of detail, and their hair was messy, but they were clearly happy. They stood quite near each other, with a lopsided red heart floating between them.

They were flanked by a moppy little boy, and his decidedly less radiant sister. In an act of true magnanimity, the boy had neglected to give her stink lines.

The family was not alone, in their nebulous party. Even as their parents fawned, the children looked to other figures off to the side. The girl looked at a much less detailed emperor, while the boy looked at a sixth person. A new figure,that Carmen had neglected to depict. It was tall, and lanky, and it grinned-

"Oh dear, is that? Yes, it must be," Edelgard tittered, when it all clicked. "Oh, I did not expect to see that, today." She looked at the paper again, and laughter poured out of her like she'd sprung a leak.

The mighty conqueror's giggles inspired a few in Manuela. "Yes, I think it's fair to say someone has a fan." When she had basked in levity for a few moments, she added "He's got quite the range, that one. Charms lonely noblemen and four year old boys, scares off everyone else."

As her laughter ran dry, Edelgard spoke up. "He'd have you think he's worse than he is," she said. "He works hard to keep up that ghoulish reputation."

As if by some grand serendipity, Manuela didn't press. Instead, she found something to fiddle with in her dress pocket.

As she fidgeted, a truly selfish, evil idea came to the emperor. When her companion looked back up, she put voice to her plot.

"Just for the night," she asked, "may I borrow this drawing? I simply must show him. He won't give me a rise if I only describe it."

Surprise flashed in the corner of the woman's eye, but a glint replaced it just as quickly. "Alright, dear. Stake your little vampire, if you must. But don't get any dust on my masterpiece. It's one of a kind."

The emperor raised a hand, as if to swear. "Oh, I assure you I won't. You'll have it back, unharmed, tomorrow morning."

"I'll hold you to that," nodded Manuela. As the girl stowed away her new weapon, the minister corralled her other papers. When they were all in order, she tucked them under an arm, and picked up her plate. "With that, though, I should be off."

Only then did Edelgard notice the watch chain dangling from the woman's fingers. Before she could ask, Manuela spoke again.

"It's twelve to one, by the way. No hurry, but maybe you should think about heading back, yourself."

The girl nodded. "Thank you, Manuela." She cleared her throat. "For the drawing, and the snack, and-"

Her elder, up on her feet, all but shushed the emperor with a wave of her hand. "Oh, don't thank me, Edie, it was my pleasure." With a wink, she added "The next time one of those blowhards figures out how brevity relates to wit, we'll have to do this again."

That earned a smile from the young woman. "Yes, I'd like that."

With smiles exchanged and goodbyes said, Manuela turned, and clicked off down the path. As she went, though, Edelgard still sat.

Silently, just to herself, she counted seconds. The gentlest tap of satin finger on steel palm helped her keep twelve, thirteen, then fourteen.

She kicked her legs, as she waited. Not quite as limber as when she sat down, but workable. Eighteen, nineteen.

She had over six hundred, if Manuela's estimate was right. More than enough to get back to her throne, even at a hobble. But she had a hunch.

After twenty-five, she couldn't make out even the faintest trace of Manuela's heels on paving stone.

She noticed the shade had moved, since the start of her little encounter. The light touched her face.

Before she had reached fifty, her suspicions were confirmed.

In the corner of her eye she saw it. From the way she had come, out behind the hedgerow, a shadow stretched. It grew, silently, in the periphery, until finally something tangible stepped up.

"Do you find the scenery agreeable, my lady?"

Edelgard looked over at Hubert, who approached as silently as ever. He was quite a sight, out in the spring air. Amid pale greens and bright birds and a rainbow of butterflies, his dour black attire struck the eye.

"It is improving," she said, as he drew closer.

"Mm. I'll send the gardeners my regards, then."

The emperor sighed. "You're early. I imagined you'd take a bit longer to find me, out here."

The Marquise raised his eyebrow, ever so slightly. "A fat little bird told me you were out for a walk," he explained. "And there is only one place you would go."

Silently, Edelgard wondered if he let himself walk into her little snare. "Ah, so you're late, then. I'll have you know I walked into quite the ambush, while you were strolling."

The smell of slick cobblestone began catching on the breeze.

"My apologies, my lady," he said, with a little bow. He was directly in front of, then, looking her over with fairly convincing concern. When his cursory inspection was complete, he continued. "I am glad, however, to find you unharmed. Seems you're a match for any assailant, even now."

"How much did you hear?" she asked, staring right into his beady little topaz.

He balked, a little less than convincingly. "Not much. Barely whispers on the wind."

Before she could think of something sharp, he spoke again, an octave lower than normal. "Your legs," he wondered. "Do they have the worst of it?"

She almost winced at the tone. She wondered how obvious she was making her condition. How she would avoid this, the next time it flared in the morning. All the same, she tested her legs again, and confirmed her earlier findings.

"They are workable," she told him. "Nothing too serious. No cause for worry."

He didn't argue, but something twinged his eye for the briefest moment. He backed up half a pace, and she found a white leather hand offered to her.

She took it. He helped, and she stood, and with the tiniest tug he directed them towards the path.

"We have about ten minutes," he told her. "A mountain of time. Enough for me to brief you, on the way."

She nodded, and they began to walk, side by side. By the time they were a step away from the path, he remembered to withdraw his hand.

All the same, they managed to keep pace quite nicely. Even as she sped or slowed, trying to get back into the swing of her royal cadence, he matched her step for silent step.

As he rattled off names and titles and reasons, and she tried to perfect her form, that little fact stuck in the back of her mind. Despite their height difference, and her condition, and whatever witchcraft he did to keep so silent, he stayed precisely beside her, the whole way. Like characters in a play, perhaps.


End file.
